Page 11 of Maybe My Baby

“Donovan is always in a good mood,” Myrna said.

“Maybe.”

“I’ve got to get back to the store. Jim is great, but he needs a good boss.”

Ginny managed a laugh. “I can only imagine, poor man.”

When she was alone again, Ginny paced from one end of her small home to the other. All other considerations aside, she would have to move somewhere more suitable before she gave birth. Her apartment was up two flights of steps. With all the necessary baby paraphernalia, that would be a nightmare.

She fixed herself a cup of the soup Myrna had brought and sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of lemon-lime soft drink. If she ate very, very slowly, this might work.

One bite stayed down. Then another.

Earlier, Ginny had set a notepad and pen on the table along with a medium-sized cardboard box that held some of her most prized possessions. Now she jotted a few things on the list.Order baby books. Tell Mom and Dad I’m pregnant. Look for new apartment?That last one was a question only because she might end up at Donovan’s house. He even had a tiny guest room that could be converted into a nursery.

But Donovan had askedGinnyto move in, not Ginny and company.

She decided to wait a few minutes before trying more soup. Because the list was proving to be a challenge, she pushed it aside. Instead, she opened the box. In it were all her jewelry-making tools. Several kinds of pliers, a specialized saw, the disk punch, her practice material. Plenty of wire, mostly copper and sterling silver, but a bit of real gold.

After she set it all out on the table, she opened the red satin bag and carefully removed the necklace inside. The small sterling silver links were hand hammered. Suspended at the base of the twenty-inch chain was a single fire opal set in the same silver.

Ginny looped the necklace around her neck and fastened it. When she picked up the mirror, she saw the opal nestled against her plain navy T-shirt, right at the top of her breastbone.

She fingered the stunning stone, remembering the day she had finished her project. The professor and her classmates had showered her with compliments, but Ginny had doubted. She had doubted her abilities, her technical skills, her originality.

So when she graduated, she returned to Blossom Branch and put all of these things away in a box on a high shelf in her closet.

It was ironic, really. Ginny was the one with the fancy, expensive degree. But Donovan, though he had dropped out of college, was the one who had found his calling and plunged into furniture making with enthusiasm and confidence.

Ginny hadn’t believed in herself. And she wasn’t sure why.

She hadn’t given up art entirely. Her chalk drawings on the back wall of the ice cream shop were both personally challenging and entertaining to her customers. But the jewelry making—the real passion of her heart—had seemed like a foolish dream. She couldn’t possibly make a living creating rings and necklaces and bracelets.

Could she?

So many thoughts swirled in her head. The prospect of decisions. Tough ones. But she realized that the absolute most important task facing her was to keep herself and her baby healthy.

She gathered up all her tools and packed them back in the box. Then she tackled the soup again. It was cooler now, almost too cold. But the taste was perfect.

After she finished half the bowl, she made herself stop. If her stomach cooperated, she could have the rest later.

It was six o’clock when her doorbell rang, an odd time for a visitor.

Something told her she knew who was on the other side. Her insides started to shake. After checking the peephole, she opened the door.

Donovan stood with his hands in the pockets of dress khakis, hair ruffled by the afternoon breeze, shoulders straining the seams of a button-down shirt in a dark-blue-and-green plaid. This was his version of work casual.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said. “May I come in?”

Ginny had thought she had at least another twenty-four hours before this stressful confrontation. Panic strangled her. Little yellow spots danced in her line of vision.

This time, Donovan saw what was about to happen. He scooped her up in his arms, kicked the front door shut with one foot, and carried her to the bedroom. When he set her down gently on the bed, his expression was a cross between concern and frustration.

“You were going to faint again, weren’t you?” he said.

Ginny wrinkled her nose, not quite able to look at him. “Maybe.”

He picked up her hand and stroked her palm with two fingers. “Talk to me.”

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